


Recovery

by TetrodotoxinB



Series: Whumptober 2019 [30]
Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Coda, Concussion Recovery, Episode: s02e10 Ki'ilua (Deceiver), Prompt: Recovery, Recovery more in the sense of Danny recovered Steve from North Korea, Steve is a basket of emotional issues, Whumptober 2019, concussion symptoms, day 30
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2021-01-12 23:09:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21234119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TetrodotoxinB/pseuds/TetrodotoxinB
Summary: Jenna's actions make Steve question who he is and whether or not he really knows anyone at all.





	Recovery

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by [Secret_Library98](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Secret_Library98/pseuds/Secret_Library98).

Steve can hear the _tat tat tat_ of gunfire outside the transport vehicle. He knows he ought to make use of the distraction. He could escape into the underbrush, maybe even steal a car and make a break for it. But he took the butt of a rifle to the head and his vision isn’t so great; his balance is even worse. He’s not giving up, but he is going to bide his time. Taking every chance at escape will just make his captors more careful with his security, not less.

He curls into a ball and hopes that maybe the gunfire won’t kill him before he can escape.

*****

Danny throws open the canvas flap on the back of the truck. 

“Hey, it’s Steve! I got Steve!!” Danny shouts.

Steve blinks, turning his head away from the light. His eyes hurt, his skull throbs, and now he’s clearly hallucinating because Danny is safe in Hawaii, not traipsing around North Korea looking to get himself killed. But Danny’s in the truck now, dressed like he’s not a detective from New Jersey — he’s dirty and carrying a gun Steve’s never seen him use before and he’s kneeling next to Steve, his gloved hands picking at the ropes around Steve’s wrists.

“Danny?” Steve asks quietly. Danny, who is somehow surprisingly real because hallucinations don’t just untie knots, glances up. “Where’s Wo Fat?” Steve asks. If this is real, then Danny, not just Steve, is in serious danger.

“Just shut up, would you?” Danny gripes, and Steve follows Danny out of the truck on shaky legs.

*****

Exfil south is bumpy and exhausting, though Steve would be hard pressed to admit it. By the time they’re safely ensconced in their hotel room, Steve wants nothing more than to sleep, but whatever doctor Chin has hired to come treat Steve off the books has other ideas. Steve suffers through an exam and what amounts to very well-trained field medicine. It’s not pleasant, but it’s obvious to everyone that he’s suffered worse. 

When the doctor finally leaves and Steve has had a chance to wash up, albeit washing up by sitting in the tub because he’s too dizzy to stand, Danny plops a bowl of soup on the table by Steve.

“Can you feed yourself or am I doing it?”

Steve narrows his eyes at Danny, even though it hurts. “I can still use a spoon.”

“Alright, well get to it,” Danny orders.

It’s harder than Steve expects but most of it makes it to his mouth. Of course the post-concussion nausea threatens to evict his dinner, but through willpower and a lot of well-timed swallowing, Steve keeps it down. 

“I’m going to sleep,” Steve says quietly, and Danny nods. “You alright with the TV?”

“You can’t watch TV with a concussion,” Danny argues, already reaching for the remote. 

Steve pulls it away, though not as quickly or deftly as he might normally. “That’s bullshit science.”

Danny glares. “I’m sure you read that in some fancy magazine somewhere.”

“No, the neurologist I saw at Tripler after that explosion last year told me,” Steve counters, still holding the remote.

“Well, if you’re sleeping then why do you need the TV?” Danny shoots back.

“Do you have to turn everything into a fight? I want some fucking background noise,” Steve snaps.

Danny opens his mouth, closes it, and then nods. “Yeah, sure. Whatever you need. Just none of that K-Pop shit. I can’t stand it.”

Steve huffs a poor facsimile of a laugh and turns on the TV.

*****

It’s been a week and Steve still can’t go back to work. Besides the fact that the doctors won’t clear him, Steve knows he’s still too fucked up to do the job. His arms go weak or numb if he turns them certain ways, and his heart seems to skip beats every so often. Then there’s the dizziness, the headaches, the occasional vomiting — Steve might be able to manage paperwork, but after everything that happened, he hardly has the energy to focus on supply requests and incident reports. 

Instead, Steve power washes the lanai, the porch, the front sidewalk, and the driveway. He trims all the shrubbery, and weeds the flowerbeds. The lawn gets mowed, the carpet is steam-cleaned, the baseboard and crown molding are dusted, the grout in the kitchen and bathrooms get resealed, and finally the lanai, now dry from its power washing, gets re-stained and then sealed.

Basically, Steve refuses to sit still for any measurable period of time. And why would he? What’s going to be gained from sitting around and stewing in his pain? Wo Fat killed, either directly or indirectly, both of Steve’s parents, and now he’s set on taking Steve down, too. It hurts and it’s frustrating, but Steve knows that as personal as it feels, it’s pretty much just business, at least for Wo Fat.

So what gets Steve, what really hurts, Jenna. She led Steve into a trap. She knew, at least on some level, that she was delivering him into unfriendly hands, hands that weren’t going to send him home once they got what they wanted. Steve wants to be sympathetic because she lost someone and was just trying to bring him home, but there had to be another way. There’s always another way that doesn’t involve setting up someone you call a friend to be tortured and then murdered.

As Steve works on the kitchen cabinets — sanding down doors and drawer fronts — he thinks about Jenna’s body, left behind in North Korea where she’ll never be properly buried. Something about the whole thing — her betrayal, her lack of trust, the futility of it all — it makes Steve wonder what the point of any of this is sometimes. He’s lost so many people, both family and military, and seen quite a few lose themselves either to drugs, alcohol, ideology, or money. Steve feels like at a certain point it’s only realistic to wonder why? Is it him? Is it just the job? Bad luck? 

He’s masking off the hinge plates on the cabinet doors when the alarm system beeps. Steve stands, pulling his pistol out of the cabinet where he keeps the cereal bowls, and flicks off the safety.

“Don’t shoot. I brought malasadas,” Danny calls from the living room.

Steve smiles and puts his gun back where it was. “Didn’t know you were coming.”

“Well, you’re an idiot. I’ve been over every day after work,” Danny says as he walks into the kitchen. “Oh, you’re taking the house apart now. Great. Have you taken up meth to pass the time?”

“I sanded the face frames and doors, and now I’m going to repaint,” Steve explains. “I don’t think my neurologist would okay meth during the recovery period.”

“Your neurologist wouldn’t ever okay that,” Danny points out, jamming an entire malasada into his mouth.

Steve shrugs and he nearly drops the malasada that Danny just handed him.

“That nerve stuff still acting up?” Danny asks.

Steve nods. “They said it could be months before it fully heals, if it heals at all.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Danny asks. “You haven’t really wanted to talk about anything since you got back.”

“I’m working through a lot of stuff,” Steve says, as though Danny isn’t fully aware of that.

“Yeah, I get that. You’re just, I don’t know, distant? Prickly? A general asshole to people who want to be nice to you and care about your well-being? I don’t know. What do you want me to call it?” 

Steve sighs and looks out the window over the sink. “Jenna betrayed me. And before her it was Nick. I thought we were tight, you know? We did two tours in the Sandbox, had each other’s backs. Sonofabitch tried to kill me in my own house. What about Governor Jameson? I mean is there anyone in my life who’s not willing to sell me out for a better deal?” Steve asks. As soon as the words leave his mouth, Steve realizes that saying that to Danny isn’t fair but he can’t pretend like it hasn’t crossed his mind. 

“I’m going to skip the part where you are wondering if I’ll sell you out, because you’re an idiot and I don’t answer stupid questions, and I’ll cut to the part where I am a sympathetic human being. Because yeah, I would probably wonder that, too, at this point. A lot of shit has happened to you in the last eighteen months, and a lot of people aren’t who you thought they were, for good or for bad. But it’s important to know that you aren’t why they did those things and none of it was your fault.”

“I know,” Steve confirms.

“Good, because if you didn’t have a head injury I’d slap you. I know you know, you great big idiot. I’m not telling you because I think you don’t know. I’m telling you so that you’ve heard it from someone else, too,” Danny says, waving his hands and getting bits of sugar all over the kitchen in the process.

“Thank you, Danny. I’ll admit it crossed my mind,” Steve admits.

“Yeah, well, it would cross mine, too. Now, I’m going to get on this whole ‘proving I’m a legitimate friend’ thing by changing out of my work clothes and helping you work on whatever stupid project this is,” Danny declares imperiously. 

Steve smiles and laughs. “Thanks, Danno.”

Danny smiles. “You’re paying for dinner, though.”


End file.
